


The Aftermath Adds Up

by hipbonesofChrist



Category: Inglourious Basterds (2009)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Talk polish to me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-05-18 06:03:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5901118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hipbonesofChrist/pseuds/hipbonesofChrist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Donny wakes up in a hospital, ruined and alone and wanting nothing more than to get the hell out of this war.</p>
<p>A fluff piece featuring our favorite Basterds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_ Why was he unconscious? Why couldn't he open his eyes? _

_ A bomb blast. Fire. Ears ringing. Pain. So much pain everywhere and a small...a small body underneath his. He was protecting Omar. He had been protecting Omar Ulmer from the bomb blast, yes, that's what he'd been doing before everything went black. _

_ Why was everything black? Was he dead? Why was… _

Even as Donny thought those words into the blackness of his mind, a pang of fear and regret jolted his body.

_ I can't be dead. I had so much more to do...we won the war. We did it. I should be back in the states…back with hi…my team.  _ Fear coursed through his body, hot and heavy.

_ Wait… _

His body. He could  _ feel  _ his  _ body. _

_ I'm not dead.  _ Donny thought with relief. His heart, which he realized had been pounding in his ears, slowed back to its normal pace. He took a deep breath, and his entire body shuddered.

_ Ow. Shit that  _ hurt…

Donny resigned himself to a slow day of attempting to get his body to work like it should.

_ First let's get my eyes open. Come on, you Basterd. _

_ Please? _

Obediently, his eyes snapped open and pain coursed through his head. He welcomed it like an old friend, disregarding the severity of it because he was glad, glad that his body was responding, glad to be alive. The first thing he was aware of was that his vision was blurry. Like, absolutely  _ swimming.  _ The next thing he was aware of was that his ears were ringing. Like,  _ Donny Donowitz is seriously hurt,  _ ringing.

His vision started to clear and his chapped lips widened in a smile, beads of blood seeping from the cracks in them. That was the least of his worries though, and he chuckled.

_ Yeah, baby, let's go. You can do this. _

_ What was… _

Through the ringing in his ears he could detect something faint, something like footsteps walking. Towards him.

_ Could be enemy soldiers!  _ Was his first thought. His eyes snapped shut and his mouth drew out of its smile. If he talked, they would without a doubt figure out he was American. His Boston accent wasn't what you'd call ‘subtle.’

So comatose it was.

The hard bootsteps came closer...closer...closer...Donny had to remind himself not to stiffen. He made his breaths deep and tried to go back, to that darkness he'd been swimming in for who knew how long before now. He'd almost gotten there when the edge of the bed depressed and a hand was placed on his. It took all of his willpower not to jump, but in his mind he was screaming.

_ What the fuck is this? _

“Donny...is today gonna be the day? Come on, man.”

From the first word Donny knew he was safe. He almost smiled, for he knew this voice as well as he knew Aldo's.

But now his addled mind still had to come up with a name…

_ Come on, come  _ on!

His own weakness, his own fragility of mind angered him and he concentrated hard.

_ S...Sm… _

_ Smithson. That's it. His first name.  _ Donny almost sighed in relief, but he kept still, kept listening, drinking the nasally, calm voice in like the best drug, the coolest drink of water.

“We're counting on you, Donowitz. You're a war hero. You've probably got a medal waiting back home and everything. But first you gotta wake up.”

There was a silence, and a sharp, tense intake of breath from Utivich. Donny loved when he did that. His Cupid’s bow lips pursed perfectly, his blue eyes hard and stressed, his small shoulders rigid…

“Okay, Donny. Do it...do it for me. Wake up for me, okay? Please?” The bed creaked as the smaller man's weight shifted.

“Please.” Donny felt the man coming closer, felt his warm, mint-smelling breath brush over his bruised cheekbones, his shattered nose, and his heart quickened. His lips tingled with anticipation and the feeling that something was in very close proximity to them.

Smithson drew back. The feeling was gone. Donny almost sighed in disappointment — he just barely caught himself.

“Donny?” Smithson's voice was curious, incredulous. Donny wondered why until he realized the fresh beads of blood on his lips must have alerted Smithson to his recent movement.

“Donowitz, if you're awake, I'm going to kill you.” The man said, as Donny stayed silent. The Bear Jew could feel the man's blue irises boring into him, trying to find a movement, a flinch.  _ Anything.  _ He could feel the desperation.

He started to panic as the footsteps started, towards the door. He tried to remember how not to hurt, how to move, how to  _ feel,  _ damnit!

_ Fuck it. _

Trying with all of his might, Donny moaned and shifted on the scratchy cot. He forced his eyes open and was able to be pleased for a split second before the pain coursed through his body with every pump of his heart. It was agonizing at first, and Donny's muscles spasmed, regardless of the fact that it was those movements causing him pain. He didn't even know if Smithson was even in the room anymore.

“Donny...I have you, Donowitz.” There he was, and again his voice washed over Donny like a soothing metaphorical waterfall, even through the ringing which was making everything sound farther away. His vision was blurry, but clearing, and Donny saw the hospital cot he was on, the white painted wall, but not Smithson, who was behind him, hands on his shoulders, warm and soft and familiar.

Despite this soothing and calm,  Donny began to quickly notice that the shallow breaths he had been taking before wouldn't let him last very long without passing out. But there was something in his throat...god, it was fucking horrible…

_ Water… _

Donny tried to say the word and he started to cough hard, gasping. His broad chest heaved but he  _ couldn't breathe, Jesus he couldn't breathe! _

“W...w…” he tried again but it was okay, everything was okay because Smithson was already there, already tilting cool, glistening water down Donny's throat. Donny choked, the feeling oddly foreign, and he felt the water come back into his mouth, splash onto the white bedsheets, of course they were white…

_ Jesus. _

The water was grey, darkened with flecks of soot and ash and debris that filled Donny's lungs after and during the bomb.

_ I'm gonna die.  _ Donny began to panic, big brown eyes wide with that deer in the headlights look.

“Donny! Donny you're going to be okay. It's just ash from the bomb. You're fine, you're gonna be okay!” Smithson's searching hands went from the bigger man's shoulders to his collarbones, finally wrapping around his waist and holding him as he retched and shook. His sizable muscles were tensed and trembling...weak.

Smithson shifted so he was sitting on the bed, holding Donny in his lap although their drastically different sizes made the scene almost comical.

“Donny...try to drink this.” Smithson commanded, voice logical and rational, familiar. “And don't tense your muscles. That's what's hurting you. Your ribs were cracked and you had a concussion and you tore a lot of muscles, you broke your nose and some of your fingers…” Smithson's tone slipped accidentally, became more frantic.

_ He'd been worried about me… _ If Donny was able to smile, he would have. Because who was he kidding? He wanted the war to end so he could go home and carry on his secret unacceptable relationship with his Pfc.

By the time Donny had recovered his breath, he was exhausted. His face was red from strain and his breath still rasped in his throat. He shivered as the murky water soaked into his pants, which were still torn, bloodstained and ripped. He realized his shirt was off and Smithson's hands rested warmly on his bruised and broken chest.

“Can you breathe?” Smithson asked. Donny took a deep, experimental breath and winced in pain.

“My fuckin’ ribs…” he groaned.

_ Christ, my voice sounds like death… _

“Drink some more water. It'll get better.” The Private’s voice was calm.

To keep his breathing steady, and in time with the pulses of pain coursing through his chest, Donny focused on his  filthy trousers.

“Have I been out long?”

“Five days.” Smithson answered immediately. “A day after the explosion we searched the wreckage and we found you.”

“And Omar?” Donny asked promptly. There was no answer from behind him and so he licked his lips and quietly asked, “Come here so I can see you.” He waited as Utivich raised the back of the bed and settled Donny on it so he was sitting upright. Then the smaller man sat gingerly on the bed, blue eyes looking hard into Donny's brown ones, shiny and seeming to beg.  _ Not that question, please don't make me answer… _

“Where is Omar, Utivich.” Donny asked. Smithson flinched as Donny used his last name, almost visibly sitting up straighter. Donny was his commanding officer, after all.

“Omar...Omar didn't make it. Donny, he was killed instantly. He was thrown...we know you tried to save him...I'm...Fuck, I'm…”

“Shit.” Donny said, his voice cracking. “Fucking hell.” His brown eyes were glassy with tears and he bit his bottom lip hard to try and stem the flow of tears but he could feel the salty drops of water sting the cuts and abrasions on his face. His still-chapped lips cracked again and he could feel the blood well up and sweet Christ all he wanted to do was be away from the blood and the bombs and the fucking guns and  _ Germany — _

“Donny...Donny...it's gonna be alright...shit, Donny…” Smithson's angelic, soft lips twisted in a frown and a single tear ran down his angular cheekbone as well. “Fuck...no it isn't,” he whispered. He leaned forwards, hands carefully placed on the Bear Jew’s bandaged chest, and brushed the moisture from Donny’s tanned face with hands that had managed to stay soft and perfect throughout the war, through the guns and the blood.

“I tried to save the kid.” Donny murmured, trembling. With each labored breath his body was wracked with pain, but he deserved it because he let the kid die, he  _ let  _ Omar die. It should have been him.

“No! Donny don't say that!” He hadn't realized he'd said it out loud until Smithson nestled into his shoulder, breathing hitched and warm on his bare skin. “Don't say that please... _ teraz nie…”  _ Now it was Donny's turn to be surprised. He knew Smithson spoke Polish but he'd never heard him.

“Smithson…” Donny took a gasping breath and winced, although the pain was nothing compared to what he was feeling in his mind. The smaller man hugged him, hands tangling in coal-black hair.

“I'm sorry, Donowitz.” Smithson breathed.

The two soldiers lay like that for a long time, in each other's embrace, unashamed. Finally Donny spoke, breaking the silence.

“Smithson?” He asked, voice still heavy with tears but light, somehow.

“Hmm?” Smithson had, admittedly, almost drifted off, lulled by the bigger soldier's steady breaths.

“Say something else in Polish.”

Smithson's blue eyes widened, surprised, before his shapely lips raised in a smile and he raised his head off of Donny and pressed his lips to the man's tanned lips, tasting the ash and blood and underneath, that intoxicating smell of  _ Donny  _ that he loved so much.

When they broke apart, Smithson's eyes were shining.

“ _ Potrzebuję cię _ .”

Donny's eyes were enamored. “What does that mean? “

_ “I need you.”   
_


	2. Chapter 2

It was the first night they had slept together, alone and uninterrupted.

The thing was, Donny couldn't sleep.

He could hear Smithson snoring softly beside him, the man's pale arm wrapped around his tanned, still-healing chest. He took pains to not move, to not disturb him.

In the dim light, Utivich looked like an angel. Dark lashes closed and moving slightly over his piercing eyes, pink lips slightly parted. Donny gave a small smile. God, he loved the little basterd.

Gently wrapping his hand around Smithson's wrist, his entire hand closing around the thin arm, Donny moved away from his lover's touch, sliding to the edge of the bed and sitting up, testing his ribs. They were getting better every day. Too bad the healing in his body was about a hundred times faster than the healing in his mind.

Donny crossed the room to the bathroom, thinking that it wasn't such a bad inn they'd checked into. It was clean, at least. And Nazi-free. They wouldn't be in the States for another couple of days.

The tall man bent at the sink, splashed water over his face. He knew Smithson was a light sleeper — hell, in the war you couldn't be anything but — and so he wasn't surprised when he heard footsteps approaching but he still jumped when he opened his eyes and saw Utivich standing behind him, reflected in the mirror. Those blue eyes were concerned.

“You haven't gone to sleep yet?” Utivich asked. Donny shook his head, reaching around the smaller man for a towel.

“What's wrong?”

Smithson beat Donny to the towel, grabbed it for him. He had to nearly stand on his toes to wipe the water from the big man's face.

“I don't know.” Donny said, pushing Smithson's hand away to look down at him. “I really...I don't know.” he stammered, although his stomach was twisting in a very familiar way.

Utivich ran a hand over his stubbled cheek. “Bad dreams?”

“No dreams at all.” Donny replied. “I can't sleep.” he turned and studied his anxious face in the mirror again, still scraped and bruised and cut from the blast.

“Do you feel guilty?”

Utivich described the feeling coiling in Donny's chest before Donny himself had the words to. And as if putting the emotion into words was the key to Donny's thoughts, the Bear Jew found himself speaking. Rambling, really.

“I just can't st-stop thinking that I could have done more...and those people...I've killed people, brutally. Fuckin’ horribly, Smithson and I-I know I did what I had to and I know they were bad so-so I shouldn't feel bad, right?”

The words came at such a rapid fire pace that Utivich was stunned into silence for a moment, eyes wide and trained on Donny's face. When he recovered from that shock he put his hands on Donny's shoulders, made him crouch so Smithson could press a warm kiss to his forehead.

“Donowitz, relax, okay?” Utivich said. His voice was soothing and comforting, familiar and loving. “I can run down and get us some tea if you —”

“No I...I don't want to be alone, I'm...I'm sorry, Smithson.” Donny said, head hung shamefully.

“Okay, alright _. _ ”

The smaller man led Donny back towards the bed, making him sit down on the mattress and sitting beside him, brushing his longer dark hair back. The feel of Smithson's hand on his hot forehead was heavenly to Donny.

“You're with me, Donny. Okay? You're safe and you have nothing to be guilty about. You saved people. You saved so many people,  _ kochany.”  _ Smithson used the Polish word which had become so familiar to Donny.

At Utivich's command, Donny lay back in bed, on his side so he could see his lover.

“You can sleep, Donny. You're alright.”

Donny's eyes softened, became more contented. They also began to flutter closed. Smithson pressed a small kiss to his lips.

“Utivich?” Donny murmured, voice slurred as he struggled against slumber.

“Yes, Donny?”

“What does... _ kochany  _ mean?” The Boston accent was painfully clear as he struggled to pronounce the word.

Utivich ran his hand through Donny's hair, hugging him tightly.

"It means loved one.” He whispered in Donny's ear. Donny was snoring softly, despite his best efforts to stay awake for the translation. Utivich gave a genuine smile, a new, frequent occurrence for him.

“I love you, Donny.  _ Kocham Cię.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back by popular demand, another chapter of my fluff fanfic! I hope you like it, give me some feedback!
> 
> ~ Your Loyal Writer


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